


Liquid Smooth

by adventuress_writes



Series: dark academia [2]
Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Anal Sex, Ancient Greek, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Aristophanes The Clouds, But I wrote this, Canon Compliant, Charles Macaulay is an awful lay, Classical Music, Double Anal Penetration, Drunk Sex, Everyone Is Gay, Fall Semester, Francis Abernathy more like Francis Abernasty, Gay Sex, Henry Winter isn't an emotionless genius, IS DONNA TARTT PROUD OF ME YET??, Juvenal's Satura VI, Latin, M/M, Martial's Epigrams, Multi, Olive Oil as Lube, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Bacchanal, Richard Papen is a bisexual mess, Richard Vibe Checks Charles, Richard almost cries after sex, Rough Sex, i should've been doing my greek homework, screams in gay classics student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuress_writes/pseuds/adventuress_writes
Summary: “So what do you think about coming to the country house this weekend, Richard?” Francis leaned against my desk, glancing out the window momentarily, but then back to me.“I don’t see why not?”Francis invites Charles and Richard out to the country house for a fun weekend getaway ;) Henry shows up and finds the three of them in a compromising position. Gay chaos ensues. Also, I explain "cubitum eamus" if you don't get it, so if anything read this for the explanation.
Relationships: Francis Abernathy/Charles Macaulay, Richard Papen/Francis Abernathy/Charles Macaulay, Richard Papen/Henry Winter, Richard Papen/Henry Winter/Francis Abernathy/Charles Macaulay
Series: dark academia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878109
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	Liquid Smooth

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my friends Sab for helping me with the Greek and Carrie for helping me come up with these scenarios and allowing me to bounce ideas off the wall.
> 
> and thanks to the rest of you put up with my bullshit, yall the real MVP's
> 
> (sidenote, there's latin and greek [transliterations] and like most things I can't be bothered to include translations, but what you need to know is written in English so no need to worry.)

“So what do you think about coming to the country house this weekend, Richard?” Francis leaned against my desk, glancing out the window momentarily and then back to me. 

“I don’t see why not.” I was in the process of rearranging my wardrobe since it had gotten out of hand on account of my recent clothing purchases. “Who’s going?”

“Just me, you, and Charles. I figured we could all hang out, drink, smoke, et cetera.” He pronounced ‘et cetera’ with a distinctly Roman flair, the accent he would use in class to speak or read Latin texts.

This proposition seemed strange to me; why in the hell would Francis just invite Charles and me to the country house? Why not invite Henry too at the very least? And it was the “et cetera” that worried me. For the life of me, I couldn’t read Francis’ expression. I was, to be quite honest, taken aback, trying to ascertain the reason of Francis’ invitation.

“So what do you think?” Francis repeated, thumbing through a notebook he took from my desk.

“Well, alright,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders thinking ‘where’s the harm’.

“Great,” Francis spoke quickly, perking up and placing my notebook back down where he found it, “We’re leaving early tomorrow morning. I’ll be in to wake you up.”

I nodded my head in curt agreement, continuing the chores I had assigned myself. Francis left my room without another word, though I could see him in my peripheral vision hesitating at the doorway before slipping out.

—

“ _ Chaire, egeire phile _ !” Francis’ voice, artificially cheery, startled me awake.

I groaned as my lights came on and flooded my vision through my eyelids. I dreaded the eventual coaxing from my bed, I was far too tired to get up.

“Rise and shine! You can sleep in the car, Richard,” This time it was Charles talking.

I merely groaned again in reply. I had a feeling it was still dark outside, those sadistic bastards. I could hear rustling, probably Francis, sifting through my things to pack for me in order to expedite this process. I wanted so desperately at that moment to go back to sleep, but I knew as soon as I uttered those fatal words yesterday—‘well, alright’—I was beholden to Francis and Charles.

“C’mon, Richard, just throw some clothes on,” Charles urged.

I grumbled as I threw my sheets off and sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress to sit and rub the sleep out of my eyes. By the time I was standing Francis was toting a bag he had packed for me, my clothes already hand selected and waiting for me to don. I was still half-asleep, so any qualms I had about changing in front of Francis and Charles were dashed by my haziness. I clothed as quickly as my sleepy, uncoordinated body could move. As soon as I slipped on a pair of brown leather loafers, the two were extracting me from my room, drawing me out of the dorm building and to the parking lot towards Francis’ car. I can’t remember anything after Francis backed out of the parking spot and drove away from the campus, for I passed out almost instantaneously. 

— 

I awoke to Francis patting my cheek lightly, and to my relief it was dawn. I picked myself up off the backseat and stepped out of the car as Francis held the door open for me. Charles was carrying our bags, already walking up to the front door of the house. I followed Francis after Charles to enter the house. Francis procured his keys from his coat pocket and unlocked the door.

“Want a whiskey?” He asked Charles and me as he pushed open the door.

I was shocked, “What time is it?”

“Like 6:30. Does it matter?”

I raised my eyebrows contemplating for half a second, “I suppose not.”

—

We ended up dispersing after Francis poured us glasses of scotch. Francis retreated to his room to work on Greek homework and so I felt obliged to do the same. I was glad he packed my homework too, otherwise I would’ve been sitting around with nothing to do. Charles, on the other hand, spent his time fixing something or other that Francis had broken the previous weekend.

Around 4:00pm (I had recently checked my wrist watch), Francis knocked on the door frame of the room I was staying in, leaning cooly against the threshold. He invited me downstairs to reconvene for a drink and a smoke. I agreed, but told him I would meet him downstairs once I finished the translation I was nearly done with. He nodded and glided off, presumably downstairs. Upon completion of my translation homework, I headed downstairs shortly after him, bringing my long empty scotch glass.

As I descended the stairs, I heard Charles and Francis briskly speaking in Latin, probably so I couldn’t understand what they were saying, the bastards. I had only begun taking Latin this semester, so my knowledge of the language was unfortunately limited. Judging by their tone, the two were in heated discussion. I could only pick out certain words I knew:  _ Scio!, domus, mihi, audientis _ . There was no way I could piece together sentences from that.

When I came into their field of vision they ceased their conversation and looked up at me.

“Here, I already poured you a glass,” Charles held out a fresh glass, filled a quarter way with honey colored scotch.

I took the glass with a halfhearted smile, “Thanks.”

“Want a cigarette?” Francis asked as he took a cigarette for himself from a package that sat on the coffee table.

“Ah, hell. Sure,” I graciously received a cigarette from Francis and waited for him to light his so I could use his lighter.

“You were working on our Aristophanes assignment, right?” Francis asked, making conversation.

I nodded affirmatively as I took the lighter from Francis as he handed it to me, “Yeah,  _ The Clouds _ is really out there, but then again, it’s Aristophanes.”

“Okay,” Francis continued, “But what’s the point of Strepsiades burning the ‘Thinkery’ at the end?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be nonsensical?” Charles chimed in.

I took a swig of scotch and shrugged, “Well, you also have to look at the way Aristophanes portrays Socrates. He kinda made Socrates out to be an absolute fool, a thief even, and what do you do to thieves?”

“Burn their house down?” Charles chuckled.

“What a nice thought,” Francis took a long drag on his cigarette, “Well, also, he was mad that Pheidippides argued with him over whether or not it was okay for fathers to beat their sons. But he’s not seen as some kind of anti-hero though… he’s just some old dumbass.”

“That’s the funny thing though,” I smiled as I took a drag and a subsequent sip of scotch, enjoying the conversation, “There had to have been someone who identified themselves with Strepsiades. Didn’t Henry say in class that Plato attributed  _ The Clouds _ as one of the reasons that Socrates was put on trial? Aristophanes made Socrates out to be this weird heathen who doesn’t even believe in Zeus, you know?”

Charles finished off his glass of scotch and poured more for himself, “It would’ve been shown at the City Dionysia, too, right? A lot of fucking people must’ve seen it. It definitely would’ve sparked outrage against Socrates.”

“Athenians didn’t like him much anyways. It was just the spark that lit the powder keg,” Francis ran a hand through his hair and crossed his legs, “Plato and Xenophon were fighting a lost cause really.”

“Hmm, I suppose so.” I finished off what was left in my glass, already beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. It was then that I remembered I hadn’t eaten much that day. I didn’t mind though, it just meant I could drink less and get drunk faster.

Charles held out the bottle of scotch, “More, Richard?”

“Please,” I held my empty glass out for him to pour me another.

We continued our conversation, shallow as it was, but I had a feeling they were waiting for the right time to say something. They shared glances, eyes darting back to me. They were dancing around the subject of real life, for that was much too boring for them. But after a few drinks, Francis, already drunk, sprung it on me. It was far from what I was expecting from them, if I was honest.

“Listen,” Francis started, slurring his words ever so slightly, “We were thinking…” Charles shook his head in disapproval, putting his hand to his temple, “Okay, well, I was thinking… we should all fuck.”

I blinked slowly, stunned by this suggestion, “How very Dionysian,” was all I could say. Henry was definitely rubbing off on me.

“So you will?” Francis inquired

“I didn’t say that,” I shot back.

Charles interjected, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You’re…? Wait you two…? I—huh?” I downed the rest of the liquor in my glass in befuddlement, but also to be dramatic.  _ The first thing to go is your judgement. _

Charles and Francis shared a chagrined look. They almost didn’t know how to respond knowing that I found them out. Or, more accurately, they divulged their dirty little secret to me. I had never seen Francis at such a loss for words. The two just sat there fiddling with their cigarettes.

“Alright.”

Charles and Francis whipped their gaze up to me in a mixture of ecstatic and shocked horror. If anything, it was worth their reaction, but I couldn’t believe that I agreed to have sex with them. It must’ve been something deep in my subconscious, but I couldn’t be bothered to dissect that.

Francis placed his scotch glass down and left his cigarette burning in the ashtray on the coffee table, “Well then, my bed’s upstairs.”

With that, Francis stood, neglecting to speak another word as he walked towards the stairs. Charles’ and my eyes followed after him, yet still we sat dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Charles spoke, shaking his head as he stood.

I did the same, “Neither can I.”

“Well, after you,” Charles tossed up a hand in the direction of the staircase.

I obliged him and surged forward to follow Francis up the stairs. I couldn’t understand what had come over me; my body was moving even though every voice in my mind said ‘no’. What had I gotten myself into? All I wanted was to take Greek and here I was doing god knows what with Francis and Charles. I sighed exasperatedly as I reached the landing at the top of the stairs. Charles snickered lightly at this, but otherwise did not mention it.

Down the hallway was Francis’ room, because of course, he claimed the master bedroom. The light in his room flicked on as Charles and I followed him down the hallway. Francis flitted around the room with a lighter, lighting candles for the ‘atmosphere’.

“This is unnecessary,” said Charles, wholly uninterested.

Francis pointed an accusatory finger at Charles, “Shut the fuck up, I’m drunk and I do what I want.”

“That you do,” Charles muttered under his breath, though I could hear him.

The two of us stood in the doorway, hesitant to enter Francis’ space as he tidied up a few things. He glanced our way as he began unbuttoning his shirt and removing his cufflinks.

“Well?” He prompted. “We certainly can’t make this happen when you two are standing there fully clothed.”

“Oh, right,” I heard myself saying.

Charles shrugged, but the both of us walked into the room and began undressing ourselves. I was starting to lose the concept of time, or maybe I was just really quick in undressing because I had myself down to my underwear and shirtsleeves while Francis fumbled drunkenly with his belt, having peeled his shirt off his torso. Charles pulled his trousers and underwear off (loose fitting boxers with a polka dot pattern in muted colors from the looks of it) and was working from the top down on his own button-up.

“God dammit!” Francis was getting frustrated by his belt. “Richard,” he turned to me, “Would you help me?”

I smiled, finding this sight amusing, Francis standing there shirtless and struggling with his belt. I went over to him, my own vision impaired by the liquor. I had difficulty standing up and trying to remove his belt proved troublesome, so I sunk to my knees to be eye-level with the buckle. Above me Francis was giggling, probably because it looked like I was in the position to blow him, but I didn’t catch on until I finally undid his belt, then unbuttoned and zipped down his trousers.

“Oh,” was all I said, suddenly becoming aware that I was pulling down his pants for him too.

Francis ran a hand through my hair, and I felt like he was coaxing me to continue, however, I think subconsciously I wanted it and I really didn’t need him to tell me to completely undress him. I pulled his lacy underthings (I think it was a thong?) down to his thighs, my lips brushing the shaft of his half-erect cock. Francis exhaled sharply, pulling my hair a bit as I tongued the tip of his cock.

“Richard,” I looked up at Francis, his cock resting on my tongue, “ _ Cubitum eamus _ ?”

I let his dick drop to his thigh before I spoke, “I still don’t know what that means.”

“It’s not sexy if I explain it,” Francis, still gripping me by my hair, led me slowly over to the bed.

“Uh huh,” I started, “How about you try.”

He sat back on the bed while I continued to give him head, listening somewhat to his explanation of the Latin phrase.

“It’s—ahhh—subjunctive,  _ eamus _ , it functions like it does in Greek—fuck!” Francis’ commentary started to become more disjointed, “It's a subjunctive of purpose—oh my fucking god, Richard! It comes from the verb  _ eo, ire _ , you must know that one by now.”

I hummed in reply, lips wrapped around his cock and bobbing my head up and down with hollowed cheeks.

“Put your teeth into it, Richard,” Francis commanded (which I obeyed) before carrying on, “Cubitum is a supine, they're often used in purpose clauses. As for the translation, think… 'cubiculum'.”

“Wait,” I said, pulling off of Francis’ dick with a pop, “‘Shall we go to bed’? That’s what that means?” Francis nodded so I continued, though his hands compelled me to recommence, “So, when you first said that to me, you were asking me to sleep with you?”

“Yes,” Francis admitted with a grin.

Charles scoffed at this, which compelled me to remember that he was also in the room. Actually he was sitting in the nude at the end of the bed nearby watching us, nursing his own erection.

“Oh, Charles, be a dear and fetch the olive oil?” Francis requested, tapping the underside of my chin, motioning me to stop.

Charles left the room to procure olive oil to fulfill Francis’ request while I stood at Francis’ behest. I removed my shirt sleeves and threw them to the floor and allowed for Francis to pull my underwear down. Charles returned quickly with a slim, dark bottle of olive oil with Greek letters on the label.

“You sure about this?” Charles asked, handing the bottle to Francis.

Francis looked at Charles incredulously, “Of course!”

I glanced between them as they stared each other down silently, “Is there something I’m missing?”

“Francis wants double penetration, that’s why he invited you here,” Charles bluntly explained much to my shock. Truly, it was a lot of information to take in.

Charles climbed onto the bed as Francis began to position himself, while I stood astounded and very naked. I was becoming aware of my own nudity quickly as I watched Charles and Francis exchange the olive oil bottle and finally Charles penetrating Francis with a satisfied groan. Francis, face against the bedsheets and on his way to being pounded into the mattress, extended his arm towards me, offering me the bottle of olive oil. The bottle was slick and I stood there hesitant to do anything but ruminante on the situation at hand. During that moment I heard what I thought was a footstep on the stairs, but it was faint and I chalked it up to my intoxicated state and the age of the house.

“Richard,” Francis whined between pleasured gasps.

I took a deep breath, shook myself out of my contemplative state and unscrewed the cap of the bottle. I poured a generous amount into my hand and massaged the oil onto my erection. I placed the bottle on the nightstand beside the bed so that it was in reach if required at a future time. I clambered onto the bed, placing a hand on Charles’ bare back for balance. He slowed his thrusting to a stop, straightening his back to then lean into Francis in order to allow me access. I couldn’t help but think their movements were practiced, but it could’ve just been their bodily intuition that lent such fluidity to their movement.

“Ahh, fuck,” Francis breathed as I slowly inserted my cock just below Charles’.

As I began to thrust at a steady pace, Francis began issuing a litany of words and phrases switching between English, Greek, Latin, and French, I couldn’t keep up with the hurried language he spoke. I was focused on the sensations I was feeling, sliding easily in and out of Francis, thrusting against Charles’ cock, causing them both to moan as well as myself. I couldn’t believe I was apprehensive not 30 minutes before. My scotch-drunk mind did not offer a second thought to the fact that I was having sex with two men, for it was something I didn’t like to think about and had shoved the desire deep down to be hidden by my subconsious. Despite that, there was a distinct lack of mortification on my part that I believe to have surprised Charles and Francis. I even welcomed the strange thoughts my mind wandered to; I pictured Henry of all people, not even in a sexual context, yet it seemed to propel me onward to speed up my thrusts. Francis’ voice was beginning to go hoarse with heavy breathing and pleasured cries. Charles own breathing was going ragged as well, though not quite on the same level. I tightened my grip on Francis’ hips, my forearms securing Charles’ thighs in place as well.

The click of a lighter drew me from my thoughts and startled me so bad I jumped and slapped Charles’ thigh. Behind us, Henry sat in a chair near the doorway smoking a cigarette. He was expressionless, watching us with such a deadpan look I was unsure if I was hallucinating him or not. When Charles acknowledged his presence with a horrified glare, I knew I hadn’t.

“What the hell Rich—oh,” Francis caught sight of Henry and directed a finger-wave at him, “Hey Henry.”

Henry mimicked Francis’ wave with his cigarette free hand as he exhaled a substantial cloud of smoke.

“Well, don’t just sit there!” Francis laughed, breathy and borderline hysterical, “Join us!”

We watched Henry carefully, without moving from our positions. I figured we probably looked like we were playing a risque game of twister to Henry at that moment, who took another drag from his cigarette. He shrugged and silently held his cigarette between his teeth as he bent down to untie his oxfords. I felt Charles continue thrusting Francis against my dick, but it took a good moment to recover. Henry’s appearance flustered me and I became all too aware of my own predicament. My face felt warmer than before, I knew I was blushing furiously.

Urged on by Francis and Charles, I resumed my thrusting, my motions becoming more robotic as I thought about Henry undressing behind me. I couldn’t help but sneak a few peeks, thankfully at times where he wasn’t watching us. His overcoat lay pooled on the carpet next to his shoes and shirt. He intrigued me with how nonchalant his expression was. Was it possible that he had been in a similar situation before?

“Francis—fuck, I’m—” Charles was panting, desperation in his voice

“Charles, I fucking swear!” Francis exclaimed with a twinge of anger.

It was too late for them to argue though, for I felt Charles’ muscles tense up as he climaxed, cumming inside of Francis. Francis was furious. I pulled out from the mess of olive oil and cum before I got caught in the crossfire. It was just at the right time too because Francis shoved Charles off of him.

I stepped off from the bed, then just as I did Henry thrust the bottle of scotch in my direction.

“You look like you could use some more,” He said sympathetically. I tried not to look down at Henry. I gladly took the bottle from him and drank from it, way too much probably. Henry meanwhile acquired the slippery bottle of olive oil, “How very Grecian.”

“You’re telling me,” I replied, my head spinning.

I offered the scotch bottle to Henry, “That’s alright,” he responded, rejecting my offer of scotch. I tried not to feel offended. How could he do this sober?

“No, fuck you! Slap me harder!” Francis’ voice cut through my thoughts and I glanced over to spectate as Charles backhanded Francis with an audible slap and a yelp from Francis as he fell back to the bed. They were into some freaky shit.

“Richard?” Henry ran a hand up my spine and I shivered at his touch, though I welcomed it. 

My heart pounded a thousand beats per minute. I couldn’t see straight. One minute I was standing and the next I was being bent over, propping myself up on my forearms with my head down as Henry traced my spine with his knuckles. For a moment, his hands left my body and I felt cold as if I was in an empty space devoid of heat. Then I felt his foot nudge at my ankle in order to widen my stance. I readily obeyed, an overwhelming desire of wanting to submit to Henry’s every whim washing over me. Then I felt his hands again and I was strangely relieved by this. He grasped at my hip, his hand slick with olive oil, and his other thumbing my asshole with surprising gentleness. I gripped the sheets in one hand and with my other, I met Henry’s hand resting on my hip. He pressed in at my insistence and my breath hitched in my throat.

I looked up at the sound of what I thought was a can of whipped cream being used. Sure enough, Charles was applying whipped cream on Francis’ dick like it was an eclair or something.

Francis caught my gaze and responded to my look of confusion, “He won’t blow me unless he has his fucking whipped cream.”

Henry chuckled, “That’s the saddest thing, Charles.”

“Hey, fuck you, Henry,” Charles retored, “I don’t harp on your olive oil obsession.”

“It’s what Dionysus would’ve wanted,” he replied simply with a smile, replacing his fingers with his dick, causing me to release a drawn out moan in an odd mixture of pain and pleasure.

The hand I had on Henry’s hand flew to the sheets as I hung my head. Henry wasted no time establishing a pace at which he thrusted me. I closed my eyes with a gasp, bucking my hips against Henry’s. I couldn’t help but  _ love _ the feeling of him inside of me. He accelerated in short bursts, pounding me with such force that I cried out his name, embarrassed by how desperate I sounded. He fucked me deeper, more deliberately, lacing a hand through my hair and pulling my head up. I started to feel like we were going in slow-motion, which painted such an alluring image in mind that I almost began to cry when I realized he had stopped.

“ _ Henry _ ,” I whined, all words unknown save for his name.

Seemingly in a single motion that left me turned around, he stood me up and twisted me towards him meeting my lips with his. I didn’t think much of it at first, but I did kiss him back. His lips were soft, his touches gentle; it was quite a change from the way he was mercilessly fucking me a moment ago. He tasted like cigarettes which mingled well with my own scotch and cigarette breath. I wondered if he could taste Francis’ dick on my tongue as well. When I moaned into his mouth, he moaned in response which sent my heart aflutter.

He pulled his lips away from mine far too quick, but I was entranced by his gaze and hanging on his every ragged breath.

“ _ Lege Hellenikon emoi _ .”

“Henry, please, I can’t think right now,” I whined at his request, yet melted at his touch.

He sighed and glanced to the side where Charles was eating Francis out with the aid of his whipped cream. I thought Henry was mad at me. It wasn’t like I could talk dirty to him in ancient Greek anyway. I hadn’t been taught any dirty words or phrases in the language yet.

He sighed again, “Fine.”

He retreated to the bed and sat down. Leading me by my hips, he pulled me towards him as my heart beat at irregular intervals against my sternum. I brought my arms around his neck, my body pressed up against his. I craned my neck down to kiss him, and he welcomed it willingly, his lips colliding with mine in perfect synchronization. He pulled me even closer and feeling compelled, I climbed on top of him, following his lips as he laid on his back. We parted briefly so that we could adjust ourselves in order for me to ride Henry’s cock. I threw my head back as he penetrated me, his hands shifting to my waist. When our hips met after I took his entire length inside of me, I leaned down to place kisses along his jaw. He bucked his hips against mine, aching for me to continue. I obliged him, sitting up and leveraging my weight against him as I bounced up and down on his cock. I placed a hand on his chest and with the fingers of my other hand, kept his dick from sliding out of my ass on an upbeat.

I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see Francis heading to the en suite bathroom and Charles fast asleep on the bed. I didn’t realize Charles being asleep before, but I couldn’t understand how he could sleep so soundly with the perpetual motion coming from Henry and me.

I shifted my gaze back down to Henry, focusing on his face and every vocalization that escaped his perfectly parted lips. The definition of his jaw, his carefully carved nose, chiselled to a fine point, his neatly groomed eyebrows, and his eyes—his eyes shocked me. Usually dark and expressionless, his eyes were uncharacteristically bright and full of something else. I didn’t want to say love, that wouldn’t make an ounce of sense, but something more. I was beginning to think that he cared more for me than he let on. Or maybe he did this with everyone he had sex with, there was no way for me to know.

“ _ Zoe kai psuche _ .” I knew exactly what that meant, but hearing it from Henry’s mouth confused me even further. My mind was nothing but conflict, but this scene to me was too beautiful to ruin. ‘Life and soul,’ that was something the ancient Greeks said during sex with people they were in love with. I distinctly remembered Henry showing me the line in Juvenal’s Sixth Satire where he harps on a woman for saying that phrase during sex (in Juvenal’s eyes, she was being ‘too Greek’ for a Roman woman). It could  _ not _ be a coincidence that Henry uttered the same phrase to me.

But I let it go. It would’ve devastated me more than knowing how he felt about me if this picture was destroyed. I wanted to remember every detail up to the angle at which Henry’s head was tilted back.

Francis, I realized, had been blasting Wagner’s  _ Ride of the Valkyries _ from within the bathroom. As the piece reached its height, I felt myself reaching a climax of my own. The moment was becoming visceral, with the blending of human emotions, flesh against flesh, the animalistic tendencies of Henry’s sighs and moans. Everytime I touched him, it shocked me to feel warm skin instead of cold, indifferent marble. This was a side of Henry I wasn’t sure I would be able to get used to, and yet it exhilarated me to think he was a person with needs like anyone else. It had occurred to me that this was his own projection; he wanted to appear to people as a statue of god, sculpted from the best Parian marble like the ones of Antinous, the young lover of Emperor Hadrian. I deified him, I was a devout follower of his, which could be why he was drawn to me. I searched in vain for the ancient Grecian words to say how I felt, I needed him to know that I understood, but I was far too drunk to formulate any words.

Henry’s grip tightened on my hips, his neatly manicured nails digging into my sides with alarming strength. In the last few moments of  _ Ride of the Valkyries _ , Henry released a moan, slightly raised in pitch, as he cummed inside of me. I would be lying if I said I was surprised that he hit his climax before I did, for I was certain I would have underperformed in his presence. And what compelled him to sit up and throw his arms around my torso in enamoured embrace was beyond me. It was all I could do in my frustrated orgasm-denied state to hold him in kind, my arms around his neck and his head resting against my chest, listening to my heartbeat as he breathed steadily. We didn’t stay there for very long, however, because he could feel the tension in my own body and I think he felt the need to even the playing field.

Carrying me (quite easily I might add), he stood from the bed and sat me back down in the spot he had just been occupying. He dropped dutifully to his knees and, with his hands on my thighs, he spread my legs. He glanced up alluringly to meet my eyes with his dark, heavy-lidded eyes, lightly running his index finger up my cock, dripping with precum. I noticed that  _ Nocturne en mi bémol majeur opus 9 n°2 _ by Chopin had begun to blare from the bathroom.

“Hmm,” Henry hummed after playfully drawing his tongue up my shaft, “You know, the Romans believed that whatever you ingest, you would gain the power of. There’s a line in one of Martial’s epigrams—” he interrupted himself to suck briefly at the tip of my dick, “— _ Arrigere desit posse Sotades:  _ **_lingit_ ** .” He recited, placing the most emphasis on ‘ _ lingit _ ’ before clutching my cock and trailing his tongue from balls to tip.

I shivered in his grasp, my muscles tense and my skin warm to the touch. I couldn’t understand what this line had to do with us at first. The epigram in question was about a guy named Sotades with erectile dysfunction, which neither of us suffered from, so I had trouble looking past the surface implications of the poem. Henry was referring more so to Martial’s joke that blowing a guy could make someone more virile, more powerful, more manly. In a way, Henry was joking around with me as he diligently sucked my cock, yet behind that was the implication that he saw me as an equal, or at least someone of intelligence he could draw inspiration from. From him, that was the highest of compliments.

“Henry?” I whimpered, shaking like a leaf in his strong hands.

He simply glanced up to me knowingly and hummed in acknowledgement, his tongue heavy with the weight of my cock. He silently urged me with his eyes to speak the words hanging on my lips.

“ _ Pleroso _ ,” I gasped with ardor, shocked by how easily the Greek came to my lips at that point.

Henry continued with redoubled effort, his knuckles brushing up and down the length of my erection as his tongue probed me. It was such a build up of sensations that before long I had reached my climax. To my absolute pleasure, Henry was quick on the draw, catching the majority of my cum on his tongue. He looked up at me with a serene expression, spectating my orgasm as he visibly swallowed my ejaculate. He placed a number of saccharine kisses on my thighs as I rode out the rest of my orgasm.

I laid back on the bed in the haze of satisfaction, while before me Henry stood to his full towering height with his eyes still trained on me. He looked contemplative, tranquil even, soberly pondering what came next. Leaving me momentarily, he turned to his things strewn about the floor to procure his cigarettes and lighter. Having pulled one from his case, he lit it then sat on the bed next to where I laid. Taking a drag, he slowly laid back on the bed, his bare shoulder brushing against my own. He graciously offered the cigarette to me and I took it gratefully, taking a long drag myself. I silently handed it back to him after another couple of drags.

“Richard?” He uttered through a cloud of cigarette smoke as the soft piano of  _ Clair de Lune  _ sounded from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” I answered, curious as to what he had to say.

I waited a few moments for him to speak, but he said nothing, he didn’t even take another drag of the cigarette. I propped myself up, meeting his philosophical gaze. Whatever this was, whatever was happening between us, I decided it would be better if it went unsaid. Hesitating by half a heartbeat, I finally leaned into him, pressing my lips gently against his. I think he understood my point, but it was unclear to me if he agreed. Nevertheless, he kissed me back with equal force, balancing the cigarette between his index and middle fingers as his hands flew to caress my face. It was deeply intimate and emotional; ours was a connection free from the fallibility of words and labels, it was based on raw and unadulterated emotion. He made me dizzy—it was as if he was injecting his soul into my own.

We were interrupted when Francis glided out of the bathroom leaving wet footprints behind him in his wake, “Hey, Henry, mind if I get a cigarette?”

Francis said nothing about us, however Henry looked visibly perturbed by the disturbance, “They’re on the chair,” Henry waved the hand he held the cigarette in the direction of his cigarette case, laying as if it was haphazardly thrown on the aforementioned chair.

Francis paid no mind to Henry’s dismissiveness, but headed in the direction of the cigarettes. He removed one from the case and lit it with Henry’s lighter which was within reach of where his cigarette case ended up. He looked back at us, startled that we were watching him, “What?”

Henry kept staring at Francis as if his eyes were boring holes into Francis’ skull, but I just shrugged and shook my head. I had a feeling that Henry wanted Francis to know that he had interrupted a moment. Francis blatantly disregarded Henry’s stern gaze with his smug, knowing smile.

“Richard, do you take criticism?” He smiled wickedly.

“What?” I had no idea how to respond, my head was spinning.

“Well, these—” He started, bending down to pluck my underwear from the floor, “Are unsightly. Tighty-whities are never a good choice, you should know this.”

I raised my eyebrows, absolutely stunned. I was a split second from getting up and stumbling back to my room, when Francis continued.

“And Henry, these are a  _ choice _ ,” Francis held out Henry’s underwear with the same hand he held mine, “Mature, sure, but boring. You can do better than plaid boxer briefs.”

“Okay bye.” I basically jumped off the bed, trudging to the door, neglecting to collect my clothing from the floor.

I heard Henry scoffing behind me as I exited the room. In the dark of the hallway, with only slivers of moonlight peeking from behind the drawn curtains, I became cruelly aware of just how drunk I was. I all but leaned against the walls of the hallway to find my way back to my room. When I arrived, I pointedly hopped into bed, sans clothing. My mind was so conflicted with emotions I wanted to cry. I was all at once overcome with shame and embarrassment, it was difficult to hold back the tears that threatened to pool over my cheeks. The way I saw it, it was out of the question to cry for fear that someone in the house would hear me and I was not sure I could handle that. So I resolved to lay in my bed as the world spun. I couldn’t sleep. I was tempted more than once to get up and follow Henry’s footsteps to his room. After what seemed like an hour of laying wide awake and drunk in bed, I resolved to slip into Henry’s room.

I kept my footfalls as light as I could though I was drunk so for all I know, I could’ve sounded like a stampede of elephants in the hallway. Upon reaching the door of Henry’s room, I severely hesitated, building up the courage to face him if he happened to be awake.

Finally I twisted the doorknob and pushed my way inside Henry’s room. It was too dark to make anything in the room out except for the dark silhouettes of the furniture and the rising and falling of Henry’s chest, presumably in peaceful slumber. I snuck into the room cautiously, circumnavigating the bed to clamber into the empty side of the king size. I found it relatively easier to sleep with Henry’s warmth radiating nearby through the sheets. I slept soundly for a short period of time, until I awoke to arms wound tightly around me and Henry’s body pressed against my own. I felt my heart flutter inexplicably at this discovery. I fell into a deep sleep listening to Henry’s soft breathing and his embrace tightening. It felt safe lying in his arms. I felt safe.

—

I finally woke up fairly late in the morning. Based on how much light was filtering into the room, I would’ve guessed it was about 10 in the morning. Although, my heart sank when I realized the warmth had left the bed and I was sleeping alone. Had I drunkenly hallucinated the entirety of last night? There was no trace of Henry in the room save for the slightly messed up sheets on the opposite side of the bed and his lighter on the nightstand.

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that I played Socrates in a dramatic rendition of The Clouds for a comp lit conference last semester and it was so fucking fun.
> 
> Also, I wrote a limerick near the end of the scene between Henry and Richard because my brain does what it wants now. It would be a shame if this absolute HIGH-BROW poetry went to waste in a lonely google doc:
> 
> "Richard’s Getting Blown"  
> Henry was his name  
> Blowjobs were his game  
> My breath did hitch  
> And my cock did twitch  
> And he sucked off me ‘til I came
> 
> god this is so chaotic,,


End file.
